


Miscalculation

by theScrap_Witch



Category: Linked Universe - Fandom, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Yiga Clan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27768076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theScrap_Witch/pseuds/theScrap_Witch
Summary: The trap was meant for a hero, but a miscalculation causes the Yiga to capture Malon instead.This, they will soon learn, was a mistake.---AKA: Malon beats up bad guys
Relationships: Link/Malon (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 146





	Miscalculation

In hindsight, Malon probably shouldn’t have taken her wedding ring off.

But it was washing day and she hadn’t wanted to lose it. So, she’d slipped the ring off her finger and tucked it safely away in her pocket. There it had stayed while she scrubbed and wrung out and hung up the laundry. Then, idly wondering when her Link and the boys would reappear (soon, hopefully, she missed them dearly), she did not put it back on. The ring stayed in her pocket when the chore was done. Safe. Temporarily forgotten.

She walked into the barn, singing a favourite song. All the horses were outside, grazing in the fields. The barn door, hinges rusty with old age, gave a loud squeak as someone closed it behind her.

“Father?” she called out.

A net dropped from the ceiling. Thick cord, acting on its own, wrapped tight around her arms and legs, like a fly caught in a spider’s web. She had a second to hear someone curse (“You idiots! This isn’t the one we wanted!”) and then a bag was thrusted over her head before she could scream. White pinpricks of light took over her vision.

All she could do was breathe before the bag was removed and she could see again.

It took Malon’s eyes a minute to adjust, for the stars that had suddenly blinded her to dim away. She was still in the barn, hands tied around a wooden pillar. Whatever magic string that had been used to catch her was gone; instead her hands were bound with something thicker. Horse reins. Malon recognized the feeling of worn, old leather.

Just as she recognized the men in front of her from her husband’s letters.

Yiga.

Five of them stood around her barn, skinny twigs in ugly jumpsuits, faces hidden behind their freaky masks.

“What are you doing in my barn?” said Malon, outrage over-taking any fear. “This is private property!”

The Yiga ignored her, too busy bickering amongst themselves.

“Are you sure this is the right location?”

“Positive! The tracer stated so!”

“Its been wrong before.”

“Only when used by less competent hands. Unlike you idiots, I know what I’m doing.”

“So then, where’s the hero?”

“A miscalculation,” said the shortest one. “We assumed the heroes would immediately come here, but it appears they’ve decided to first stop at Castle Town.”

“And now we’ve wasted the spell on some woman!”

“A wife of one of the heroes, if I remember our research correctly. You should have read the briefing notes.”

“Hey!” shouted Malon. The nerve of them, breaking onto her farm, tying her up and then ignoring her. _Cuccos have more manners than this lot._ “I asked you a question!”

All of the Yiga turned to her, then looked back at each other.

“She’s talking.”

“What do we do about her?”

“Kill her?”

“Seems a waste to do it right away.”

“Maybe she could be useful. Did you check her pockets?”

“Was I supposed to?”

“Of course you were! Master Koga’s ‘Guide to Yiga Success’ clearly states that you always check a captive’s pockets!”

“Page twenty-two, paragraph four. Did you even memorize the manual?”

“How dare you insinuate that I lack devotion to our great Master - ”

“Oh, shut up!” snapped the shortest one. “I’ll do it!”

They hadn’t bound her feet. As soon as he got close, Malon kicked, enjoying the Yiga’s grunt of pain when her boot slammed into his shin. But his fingers found her skirt pocket and pulled out her ring.

“Give that back!” shouted Malon.

“What’s this?”

“Its got magic seeped into it. Very powerful.”

“But it’s so plain and ugly. Who’d ever want to wear something like that?”

“Perhaps we could still use this to our advantage.” The shortest one took out a sickle-shaped blades and turned back to Malon. “We just need one more thing.”

Malon braced herself, ready for pain, to spit in his masked face, to curse and kick the moment its steel edge touched her skin. But the Yiga assassin only used it to cut off a lock of her hair.

“We made an error,” he continued, tying the red hair through the ring, “but not an uncorrectable one.” He gave it to one of the others. “Drop this off at where the heroes are staying. Tell them the Yiga eagerly await their return home, and then…”

“And then they’ll rush here and fall into our trap! Brilliant!”

The other four Yiga cheered. “Nothing will stop us from slaying the heroes!”

_I will,_ Malon vowed.

***

As one of the Yiga disappeared off to deliver the message, Malon began to free herself.

Her hands twisted, the knots in the old leather slowly loosening. Maybe they’d assumed she’d be too terrified to try and escape; maybe they were just all dangerously incompetent. But whatever the reason, they hadn’t made sure the knots were secure. It was a chance and Malon was not going to waste it.

All the while, she sang. It made her look harmless, just a tied up young woman who could do nothing but sing. It kept her calm, kept her losing her head to fear and panic. She wasn’t an idiot. The men were armed, were evil, were not called assassins for no reason. Everything could easily turn sour and end with her throat slit and bleeding on the straw.

But Malon was a farm girl. She’d grown up with hard labour: carrying huge feedbags, dodging kicks from angry cows, guarding the cucco pen from robbers and foxes. She was not afraid of dirt, or blood, or anyone who tried to threaten her home and family.

And she sure as hell wasn’t afraid to fight.

The leather dropped to the ground, its fall silenced by the straw on the barn floor. Malon continued to keep her hands behind her back. She needed to pretend for just a little bit longer. Her eyes searched the barn for something she could use as a weapon.

To her left, leaning against one of the horse stalls, was a shovel.

The Yiga messenger appeared in a puff of banana-scented smoke. “It’s done!”

“Your sure you got the heroes?” asked the shortest one. “We cannot make another mistake today.”

“Positive! Dropped the ring right in the middle of the table where they were eating. You should have seen the looks on their faces when they realized what it was.”

“And they’re coming?”

“They’ll be here any minute now,” he cackled. “I’ve never seen anybody run so fast.”

Malon let them talk, kept her eyes fixed on their backs, as she reached out and grabbed the shovel. She may not have ever used a sword, but this was a tool she’d had years of practice with. Once it’s heavy, familiar weight firmly was in her hands, she struck. The shovel bashed against the nearest assassin’s head.

That got their attention.

Malon didn’t stop. Before the others could move, she managed to catch one more off-guard, smacking the Yiga in the stomach so hard he was thrown against the wall. 

But the other three were not so easy to hit. The shortest one dashed forward and punched her, a hard blast of pain against her cheek. She didn’t even wince. _I’ve been kicked harder by newborn foals,_ thought Malon. She ducked before she could get hit again and smashed the back side of the shovel against his knees.

_Three down, two to go._

She swung again, too slow. The last two Yiga backflipped away from her shovel and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Vanished, but not gone. Malon could feel their eyes on her, hiding somewhere in the barn around her. Waiting, like a skultula, to strike. Each second that past only fed Malon’s fear, the silence suffocating her. Every sound around her was too loud, messing with head. Like a mare sensing danger, she stood absolutely still, putting all her faith in her senses.

A too-sweet scent of baked bananas wafted above her.

_Please Hylia,_ she thought, _please do not let me miss this time._

Malon followed the scent, pivoted, and swung her shovel up into the air above her as hard as she could.

It smacked against one of the Yiga and sent him colliding into the other, just as both of them were about to drop down on her. They crashed onto the ground, one dazed, the other unconscious.

Malon aimed the shovel down at the dazed assassin as though it was the tip of a sword. “Get off of my farm,” she snarled. "Now." 

“Y-y-you’ll pay for this!” he yelled, before twisting his hands in an odd gesture. All of the Yigas disappeared in a puff of smoke, gone for good this time.

“And stay off!” Malon yelled at the empty barn. The fight was over, but her muscles were frozen in place. She could do nothing but stare, shovel still pointed out. _They’re gone, now, right? Really gone?_ Her mind knew it was over, but her body refused to believe it.

A wolf burst through the barn door, fangs barred, snarling like a mad beast.

Slowly, Malon lowered the shovel. “Wolfie?”

The wolf stopped at the sound of her voice. Immediately, he changed, tongue out, tail wagging, utter delight and relief clear in his sharp blue eyes.

Panic, terror, every emotion she’d pushed away to focus on the fight rose up up tenfold, overpowering her. Unable to hold them back any longer, Malon dropped to her knees. Wolfie ran up to her and nuzzled his head against her neck. She wrapped her arms around him, buried her face into his fur, and, now that the danger was over, sobbed.

A noise got Wolfie’s attention. He turned from Malon and let out three sharp barks. _One of the boys must be coming,_ she thought, letting him go. Quickly, she scrubbed the tears from her face and stood up. The last thing she wanted was to make any of them worry.

“Malon!”

_Link!_

Time charged into the barn, sword in hand. His good eye, burning with desperation, locked on to her like there was nothing else in the world. “Malon.”

Wolfie ran past him, back out to the others, leaving the two of them alone.

Malon smiled at him. “Hey, fairy boy.”

He dropped his sword, both hands gripping her shoulders and pulling her in close as he studied every inch of her. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.” She put her hands on his chest to steady the both of them, and she could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath his armour. “Its okay. The Yiga are gone.”

Time gave her a crooked grin. “Scared them all away, did you?”

“I don’t like intruders in my barn.” She smiled again, the sight of him chasing away the fear. “Welcome home, Link.”

The words were meant to cheer him up. To banish the darkness and terror that still lurked beneath his calm facade. But, instead, his smile cracked, the calm disappearing, and he wrapped his arms tight around her, kissing her hair, her bruised cheek, her lips.

“Malon,” he said, shaking. “If they had hurt you…If anything had happened I’d never forgive…” Time’s voice broke, and he took in a long breath. “They were fools to mess with you.” His hands moved to her face, his thumb brushing gently against the bruise on her cheek. “Absolute fools,” he said again, suddenly fierce.

“They were,” said Malon, kissing him back. “But don’t worry. I taught them a lesson they won’t ever forget.”

**Author's Note:**

> Malon is great and anyone who tries to cross her is a fool. A fool about to be whacked by a shovel. 
> 
> I meant to have this done last week, but work/Age of Calamity have been eating away all my time. And, I swear, this is the last kidnap/hostage fic I have planned. I LIKE the trope, okay :P 
> 
> I have a tumblr now, so if you wanna chat check me out at: https://thescrapwitch.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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